and the bargain answers well to both parties.
The weavers have done something better still;
-- they have clubbed their money to buy a
field, and have divided it into allotments, which
they cultivate with zeal and profit. It is
scarcely necessary to say, after this, that the
Kendal weavers are not the pallid, dwarfed,
sharp-visaged order of men that one sees in
Spitalfields and at Norwich,— trained to one
bodily action only, and moody and captious
from ill-health, and from the want of general
bodily exercise. Not satisfied with exercise
of their limbs in the loom, and at the spade,
some of them work their lungs as well,—
under prodigious difficulties. Amidst the
clack and shock of twenty Jacquard looms in
one apartment, they talk to each other from
bench to bench. Those who can keep up
conversation under such circumstances, certainly
yield a strong testimony to the sociability of
human nature, and may consider themselves
qualified to address the noisiest mob that
could be mustered,—as far, at least, as
concerns the power of the human lungs. It is
pleasant to hear that these men have formed
a cricket club,—and pleasanter still to know
that the morality of their class is far above
that of the average manufacturing population.
The morals and manners of the mill-workers
are superior to those of the weavers who do
their work at home; but the homes may
contrast advantageously with those of most
other towns: and they might present a better
aspect still, if the dwellings were better.
They are sadly small and unwholesome.

Various reasons are assigned for the creditable
social condition of the Kendal weavers:
but it may be said, in a general way, that
the clergy have been diligent; that two or
three generations have had the benefit o'f
Sunday schools; and that these influences
have been aided by the superior means
of health and comfort enjoyed by the labouring
class. It may be added that there is
here no apparent danger of the suffering
from poverty, and from angry passions, which
arises from strikes for wages. The Kendal
weavers allow no interlopers, and permit
no mischief-making between themselves and
their employers. They formerly experienced
just enough of the misery to guard themselves
against a recurrence of it. Delegates from the
south came among them, some years ago, and
stirred up some discontent: but the Kendal
men were intelligent enough, and few enough,
to be able to study and manage their own
case. They formed themselves into a sort of
guild (without the name). They permit no
one to enter it who has not served a due
apprenticeship to the business; and, of course,
the employers prefer those who have so
qualified themselves. No straggler from
north or south finds employment here, merely
because he will work for low wages,—or for
any other reason than that he is really wanted.
And, in consequence of some threat of trouble
when agitators came from the south, the
employers and their men arrived at an
understanding, which has made all smooth for the
last seven years. An average was struck
between the highest wages known to be asked,
and the lowest wages known to be given;
and this has been, through all changes, the
rate of wages ever since. A compensating
fund is formed, by subscription of the men;
and out of this a maintenance is provided for
any surplus labour in seasons of slack demand.
Such is the state of things in Kendal. Some
may say that the steadiness of the demand,
and the restriction of the numbers, and
the intelligence of the people, make this an
exceptional case: others may object that it
cannot last. However that may be, such is
the state of things in Kendal now. Those
who can't believe it had better go and see;
and we can promise them that they shall see
a very pleasant sight.

On entering Kendal from the north, one
naturally looks upon the river from the first
bridge. There, in the green meadows, some
little way down the stream, stands a large
grey-stone mill,— built over the water. It is
the Messrs. Whitwell's mill. Let us go and
see what we can find there. We shall find
there all the preparations for the carpet-
weaving, which is going on in their factory,
in another part of the town. Let us see what
those preparations are.

In a shed, there are heaps and stacks of
wool as it comes in, rough and dirty. We
shall see it better up-stairs, where it is carried
in heavy sacks, by means of a crane. Before
we follow it there, we will look into the shed
where the dyes are prepared. In the yard
there are piles, and stacks, and logs of the
oddest-looking woods; some yellow and
splintering; some red and scraggy; some
purple and solid. There are barrels of salts,
and carboys of acids and oils, and bundles of
bark. Entering the sloppy shed, where red
and yellow and purple puddles have to be
avoided, we are stunned by the noise of
wheels. There goes the great water-wheel,
which tells us that the river is flowing under
our feet; and creaking, rushing, and crushing,
go several more wheels, set in motion by it.
The rasping is the noisiest process. The
wood to be rasped, is brought endwise to a
wheel which is set with blades like those of a
plane, and which, revolving, mince off the
wood, which falls as it is cut, into an inclined
trough, and finds its way to its receptacle
below. A more awful-looking machine is the
granulating-mill. In a prodigious basin, a
stout shaft is set upright, which revolves,
carrying with it two vast millstones. These,
being round, and set on edge, must, in being
carried round, thoroughly stir and crush
ajainst the sides whatever the basin holds.
We see, accordingly, the rasped wood
becoming a scarlet paste. These reds, however,
are rather a sore point with the manufacturer;
for, in our climate, no pains and care,
and no science that we yet possess, can enable